


Star Wars: The Blackdust Queen

by SoelleKhiss



Category: Star Wars
Genre: Death Star, F/M, Flash Fiction, Gen, Star Wars - Freeform, Star Wars References, Star Wars fanfic, Stormtrooper, TIE Fighter, smuggler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2020-01-01 00:50:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18325355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoelleKhiss/pseuds/SoelleKhiss
Summary: In the final moments before the Death Star is destroyed, Stormtrooper Trep Winterrs must find a way to safety through mutiny, murder, and mayhem to save himself and his girlfriend from certain death.(An original entry in the WattPad Star Wars Smackdown: Qualifier.)





	Star Wars: The Blackdust Queen

Stormtroopers were renown for their ruthlessness, but generally not against each other. Trep Winterrs watched in disgust as primal survival instincts supplanted conditioned training, pitting squad against squad in a battle for the few, remaining shuttles in the Death Star’s docking bay.

Ensign Makaila Laike held onto his arm, horrified by the fighting beneath the observation deck. “Is this a mutiny?”

Dressed in the traditional white-on-black stormtrooper armor, Trep tucked the blast rifle under one arm and put the other around her shoulders. “These are the rats abandoning the sinking ship.” His voice was digitized over the helmet mic. “Only they’re killing each other to escape.”

“Trep, that X-wing pilot’s gunning for the exhaust ports. You know what happens if he gets a direct hit.” She flinched as a blaster bolt ricocheted off the observation glass.

“I’d rather not hang around to find out, but we’re not finding a seat down there. Not without a fight, and I don’t like the odds.” He took her hand and sprinted down an access corridor. “Still got that little hold-out blaster I got you?”

“Why?”

“Anybody gets in our way, don’t hesitate to blast them.”

“Even if we do get off the station, where are we going to go? We’ll technically be deserters.”

Trep grinned beneath his helmet. “Where I come from, you’ll be a queen. My Blackdust Queen. Smuggling royalty.”

“Blackdust Queen?”

“That’s going to be the registry of our ship. Named after the planet Socorro, a desert world with black sand for as far as the eye can see. Beautiful, just like you. No Rebellion, no Empire, not even bounty hunters.”

“You mean those stories about you being a smuggler were true?”

“I might lie to everyone else, but never to you.” He removed his helmet, tossing it aside, and kissed her. “I really did work for the Syndicate out of Soco-Jarel, the Black Bha’lir. And when we get off this death trap, that’s where we’re heading.”

“How do you plan to get us off the station?” she asked, staring up at him from beneath the brim of her cap. “It’s not like that time you a hot-wired a stolen speeder bike from the motor pool.”

Ducking his head around the corner, he hurried her into the hallway. “I happen to know where there are two pristine TIE Advanced fighters that are _not_ in the docking bay.” He winked at her. “There are perks to being old Darthie’s whipping boy.”

“You shouldn’t refer to him like that. Lord Vader is an honorable man.”

“Hard to tell beneath that respirator.”

“Of all the pilots on this station, why would he choose you?”

Trep frowned, feigning insult. “Because there’s two things Corellians do better than anyone in the galaxy. Build ships and fly.” He led her by the hand into a restricted corridor and into the antechamber of Darth Vader’s private suite. As he entered the code, the rear hatch slid open to a smoke-filled room and two TIE Advanced fighters suspended from the ceiling by suspension wires. One of the fighters dangled precariously by one cable after a portion of the ceiling had collapsed on top of it.

“Simulators?” Makaila said. “These TIEs may not even be space worthy. That one definitely isn’t.”

“Only need one. Might be a tight fit, but we can make it work.” Trep accessed the external cockpit controls. “Trust me. This baby is the real thing. My password gets us into the flight computer. Your authorization code makes it fully functional.”

“But how do we fly out?”

“See that duct?” Trep pointed to the damaged ceiling. “These ships were initially delivered through that maintenance shaft. We’ll blast our way through it and fly to freedom. Easier than swapping paint in a Gordovian smokestack.”

“What’s a Gordovian smokestack?”

Trep laughed. “Trust me, you’ll love it.” He helped her crawl inside and reached over to punch in the access code.

Makaila typed in her mainframe operator’s keycode, and the TIE’s engines roared to life in standby mode. “Pre-flight check is authorized,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Now get in here.”

“How very kind of you to provide me with a means of escape. Your sacrifice is greatly appreciated.”

“Captain Conklin,” Trep sneered, recognizing the voice. He slowly turned to face the Imperial officer standing behind him with a blaster trained on his back.

“Drop the rifle, TK-47,” Conklin said. “Don’t want you getting any ideas. Come on out of there, Ensign Laike.”

“You’ve been monitoring our transmissions?” Trep laid the rifle on the floor.

“For some time now,” Conklin replied with a smirk. “Such a romantic couple. Such a tragic ending. But at least you’ll spend your last moments in each other’s arms.”

“Trep,” Makaila whispered, drawing her hold-out blaster. “Duck!”

As her blaster shot went wild, Trep threw himself to the floor and retrieved his rifle. He fired low, catching Conklin in the ankle, and then shot high, striking the suspension cable. It snapped loose, and the damaged TIE fighter crashed to the floor, crushing the officer beneath it. Trep rolled, barely avoiding decapitation by the solar panel. “Makaila?”

Gasping for air, Makaila reached for him with bloody fingers, the blast scoring still smoking in the center of her chest.

“Hang on,” Trep pleaded as her breathing grew faint. “I’m getting you out of here.” He settled into the pilot’s chair, cradling her on his lap, and lifted off. Firing at the insulation shielding, he piloted the TIE Advanced through the ventilation shaft into contested space.

“When you get that ship,” Makaila whispered, “you’ll name her after me, right, Trep? The Blackdust Queen.” Closing her eyes, she smiled, and Trep kissed her as the last warm breath escaped her lips.

Tears burning his eyes, he cued the astrogation computer. When the first shockwave erupted from the doomed station, the stars pulsed. Pinpoints of light became elongated lines propelling Trep into the lonely void of hyperspace.


End file.
